


If You Need Me

by cgf_kat



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgf_kat/pseuds/cgf_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after Operation: Annihilate and Amok Time, Spock saves McCoy's life by bringing the wrath of aliens imprisoning them and Kirk on himself, instead. He is not as prepared for the consequences as he thought, and it is his friends who will have to be there to help him pick up the pieces in the aftermath. If he will let them. Thankfully, both Kirk and McCoy are stubborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go again working on way too much stuff at once, but uhm...I've kinda been watching a lot of TOS recently, and now I'm not gonna be able to get back to my other wip's unless I get this out. So here's the first part/chapter/ not really sure how long it's going to be. I kind hate my brain sometimes. It seriously would not let me do anything else tonight it was like no-must-write-Spock-hurt/comfort! So I hope ya'll enjoy this. :) And yes, it's very much original series (NOT new movie-verse, even thought it was good). It starts shortly after Amok Time, which was the episode after Operation: Annihilate. It refers heavily to both episode, but not to a whole lot else, I think, so as long as you've seen those you should be good.

When Jim Kirk woke, he was not at all where he expected to be. In fact, he had not expected to be _waking_ at all. Last he remembered, he was on the transporter pad with Spock and Bones…

He should have been rematerializing on an uninhabited planet, just a routine survey mission. So what had gone wrong and _where the hell was he_?

This was not the clearing they were supposed to be put down in. It wasn't outside at all. It was a room. A metal box with no windows and only one sealed door.

"Captain, are you well?"

Jim glanced over his shoulder to find Spock on his feet and already examining the walls. Of course Spock would be the first to wake. Not that he knew what had knocked them all out in the first place.

"I'm fine…" Another glance about him told him Bones was still unconscious nearby, but he didn't seem injured. He did, however, have a pair of what looked like metal bracelets around his wrists. Jim moved quickly to his friend's side and picked up a wrist to look at one of them. It appeared to be a seamless ring. "What in the—"

"I examined them as well. They give no indication of their purpose or of how they were manufactured. The metal is also unfamiliar to me."

Spock was just looking away to the wall again when Jim looked up, but he could swear the Vulcan seemed concerned. He was worried himself that the metal rings might be meant to somehow harm McCoy, but Spock was…well, Spock.

Then again, things had not been easy for him lately—for any of them, but for Spock in particular. All within the last month or two the first officer of the Enterprise had suffered from an attack by one of the neural parasites on Deneva, been temporarily blinded in the process of killing the creature, and only short weeks later gone through what Kirk now knew to be called Pon Farr—losing his emotional control completely in what led, in the end, to a fight to what Spock believed briefly to be Kirk's death.

Any normal human, after that much physical and emotional pain in such quick succession, would not be functioning nearly as well as Spock was. Spock, as usual, seemed perfectly fine whether he was or not.

Jim let it go and turned back to McCoy to shake him. "Bones…Bones, wake up. Can you hear me?"

McCoy answered with a quiet groan of annoyance, and his eyes flickered open. "Jim?" He blinked in confusion at the dull metal ceiling above them, and then focused on Kirk again. "What in the Sam Hill…?" He started to sit up and Jim helped him out of instinct, but he seemed fine.

"We have no idea," Jim admitted, in regards to their situation.

"None? Why not, the computer broken?" McCoy said it with a nod towards Spock in his explorations, and the Vulcan momentarily looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps I would have more answers, Doctor, but I must admit that I have not been conscious for much longer than the captain and yourself."

"Yeah, whatever," McCoy shrugged. He got to his feet and Jim followed suit. At the same moment they both realized that the doctor's medical kit was still hanging from his shoulder. They remembered then, to, to check for phasers and communicators, but those were all gone.

"Why would they leave the med kit if they were going to take everything else off us?" McCoy wondered aloud.

"Considering the unfamiliar metal and construction of these walls and of the rings around your wrists, as well as the unknown manner in which we arrived here, it is logical to assume that whoever or whatever has imprisoned us is of high intelligence. In that case, it would also be logical to assume that they or it would recognize that your medical supplies would likely cause no threat to its continued incarceration of us."

"Thanks for the explanation I didn't need, Spock."

"You are welcome."

Bones just glared, but it was nothing more than the usual banter and Kirk rolled his eyes good-naturedly and began to look for something to examine himself.

There were one or two panels that looked like they might come open. Spock was poking and prodding and prying at the one by the sealed door, and Jim was about to head for the one on the opposite wall when a voice echoed through the room around them. It came from everywhere and yet nowhere.

_**You have violated the sacred land of our Ancestors. No life form is to set foot on this land. It is to be preserved, and yet you used your transportation device to come here. What you have done must be punished.** _

Jim turned quickly in place, but he couldn't make out any more than he already thought. There was no way to tell where the voice came from. "What? We don't remember setting foot anywhere! The last we remember we were on our ship. How do we know you haven't taken us directly from there for some other reason?"

_**We have not. We would not have taken you if you had not come. We have no interest in strangers, but to punish those who violate this place. You were rendered unconscious the moment you were fully materialized, so that you could not see the place to which you had dared to come. None but the descendants of the Ancestors may see this place, and even they may not disturb it.** _

"We didn't know," McCoy said, speaking up. "If we had known we wouldn't have come."

Jim nodded, though he didn't know whether or not the owner of the voice could see him somehow. Still, he did it emphatically. There was already a weight in the pit of his stomach, and Bones was rubbing anxiously at the strange bracelets around his wrists. Jim couldn't blame him; he had a _bad_ feeling about this.

"Let us return to our ship and we'll leave," he added quickly. "And we'll tell everyone we know not to return here."

_**If the punishment is not carried out, then what real incentive will you have to do so? What reason will those you tell have to listen to you? No, our laws are set. You will be punished before you are released. THEN you will tell others not to return.** _

"We will! We will swear to it—"

Jim hadn't finished his sentence before McCoy shouted, and his knees went out from under him. "Bones!" He caught his friend under the arms, at first trying to help keep him on his feet. He quickly realized there was no point, because McCoy was still shouting, and he was all but dead weight now. "Bones!"

Spock was beside them in an instant, helping him to lower McCoy to the ground. The doctor was al but writhing in pain, and the bracelets were giving off a faint glow. Kirk reached for one, hoping it wasn't heat and that McCoy wasn't being burned, but he didn't feel any heat.

When he touched one of them, he _did_ feel something else—white-hot pain, racing up one side of his body and down the other, as if every nerve were on fire. He jerked away instinctively, knocked almost physically backwards. He heard himself cry out, and when he oriented himself again he realized he was flat on his back.

And that McCoy was still screaming.

He didn't think he'd ever sat up that quickly, and adrenaline negated any dizziness as he launched himself forward again, reaching for his friend who was still on the ground. "Spock, what's it doing to him!"

The Vulcan was trying to keep McCoy still with one hand and read the doctor's medical tricorder with the other, and even with his alien strength he wasn't having much luck with either thanks to McCoy's thrashing.

"Captain, please, if you could hold him still—the tricorder cannot get an accurate reading—"

Jim didn't need to be asked twice. He wrestled Bones up into his arms and held him against his chest, and that seemed to help a little. Spock began to scan, and Jim took the opportunity to shout up at the ceiling.

"Stop this! What do you really want from us? It can't be this!" McCoy's head smashed back against his chest, catching him right in the sternum and nearly knocking the wind out of him, but he held on. A sound like a tortured sob tore from his friend's throat, and Jim grimaced and tried something else as the knot in his gut twisted.

"I am the captain of the ship in orbit! Everyone on it is subordinate to me; I am responsible for them and their actions. If you're going to punish someone, damnit, punish me!"

"Jim—"

It was barely audible, but it was McCoy's voice, and he did not sound like he was agreeing. Quite the opposite.

Kirk ignored him beyond keeping his hold, and soon enough McCoy had abandoned any attempt to speak and was back to shuddering and shouting.

"Punish _me_!"

He'd almost forgotten about Spock and the tricorder. The immediate concern was that someone or something was hurting one of his crew—a member of his crew who happened to be a very close friend—and he had to stop it. Never mind that it was his responsibility; it hurt like hell, too, just to be watching this.

It always hurt. It didn't have to be Bones or Spock or Scotty or anyone even that close for it to hurt. He was the captain. If anyone under his command was hurt, or killed, he felt it. He always felt it.

"Stop this madness! If you have to do this, do it to me!"

"No, Captain."

It was Spock, making himself known again.

"Why not?"

"It is still not clear precisely how the devices work, but they are attacking the doctor's nervous system directly. It is extremely dangerous, and could easily result in damage or death if not stopped."

"Then why the hell shouldn't we stop it!"

"I did not say it should not be stopped; I only said that it should not be stopped by you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jim snapped. McCoy's cries were grating on him. This had to stop now or _he_ was going to lose it. Spock was about the only one of them who was safe.

Spock, however, didn't answer him directly. Instead he stood up, and began to speak—presumably to whomever the voice belonged.

"This is not logical," he said, calmly but loudly—to be heard over McCoy's shouting. "From what you say, this is meant as a punishment—not as an execution. However, if you do not cease your attack on Doctor McCoy, he will die—perhaps within minutes.

Jim's stomach dropped out entirely at that. Spock hadn't been that specific a few seconds ago, and now that he had been Jim felt his arms tightening around his friend. _Oh god. Bones._

It took a moment, but the voice answered.

_**The devices of punishment are set at their lowest capacity. If it is killing the one you call McCoy, then his is a weak species indeed. That is not our concern. If he dies, so be it. You and the one called the captain will still live to tell others not to return here.** _

"That is also illogical. Would not the spreading of such knowledge be better served by three than by two? Would it not be better for those who need to be told to hear it from someone who has felt the punishment? If the one whom you punish dies, then your cause is severely diminished."

If it wasn't Spock Jim would wonder how he could be so calm when McCoy's life was hanging in the balance. But it _was_ Spock, and at this moment he was grateful for it.

He was also hoping that Spock's plan was to logic them out of this completely, and that this wasn't going where he thought it was going.

It took longer for the voice the return this time, and the only sounds were McCoy's. Those sounds were becoming slowly less deafening, and Jim didn't know if that were a good thing or a very bad thing.

"Spock—"

The voice interrupted him.

_**This reasoning is sound. What are you suggesting?** _

Kirk was already looking up at Spock, and he was sure now that he saw the Vulcan's hands, clasped behind his back, clench tighter. It looked like every inch of him was stiff where he stood. Apprehensive. As apprehensive as a Vulcan could look, anyway.

"My physiology is much different from those two with me. It is much stronger. I am suggesting that if it is imperative that you carry out this punishment, that you do so to me."

Bones reacted to that, just as he had when Kirk tried to pull that stunt. Perhaps even more violently, really. He surged forward with an alarmed sound, but he didn't get far before he cried out again and fell back against Jim's chest once more. He was drenched in sweat by now, and he looked like hell.

"Spock, there has to be another way—" Jim began.

Spock didn't quite glance back at him. "There is not, Captain." His arms were at his side now, though he still looked…well, he looked like he was bracing himself.

_No, no, this isn't right—_

That was when McCoy went limp in his arms, and Kirk realized that the bracelets had simply disappeared. Bones was free. He wasn't in pain anymore.

He promptly tipped over out of Jim's arms to vomit.

Jim caught his shoulders to keep him from falling in it, and pulled him back when he was through. By then Kirk was half on his feet—enough to drag his friend back a distance and then lower him back to the ground easily.

"Bones, are you all right?"

McCoy was still moaning quietly, but he nodded anyway. "The hell," he managed after a moment. "What did that damn Vulcan do?"

Spock. God.

Kirk looked back quickly, and the question was answered by a heavy thud. It was Spock, hitting the ground. The bracelets had appeared on _his_ wrists, and while the only audible sound the Vulcan made was a startled gasp, the rings were definitely glowing, as they had been when McCoy was in pain only a moment before.

Jim didn't leave McCoy's side just yet, but called out in concern. "Spock…?"

"I…am all right…"

Well that was a lie, and Bones could see it too. The doctor had shoved himself up on his elbows, and he quickly covered the horrified look on his face with a scowl. "Damnit, Spock, what the hell is wrong with you!"

"It was logical…doctor. Your human…physiology…could not withstand what was…being done to you, and…it would be inconvenient to lose the…ship's chief medical officer…this far from a starbase." Spock tried to push up off his knees, but he only ended up closer to the floor as he slipped off them instead and a cry of pain escaped him.

"Spock!" McCoy wasn't moving very fast right now, but when Jim called out the doctor nodded quickly at him to get moving; he was fine, it was Spock that needed the help now.

When he got up to cross to his first officer, strangely enough he noticed that the puddle of vomit from Bones was gone now.

It was almost funny. All of this cruelty, and yet apparently their captors cared about keeping a clean house.

It was wrong was what it was.

"Spock?"

Jim lowered himself to his knees beside his friend, reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder, and the Vulcan reluctantly looked at him. "I am quite all right, Captain. Or…I will be in a moment. I merely need time in which to gain control of the pain. It should not…be long. I will be all right, just as I was during the investigation at Deneva. I could control the pain then, and I can now. That is also why this was logical…I can rise above the pain. You or Dr. McCoy could not."

"Maybe, Spock, but even two months ago you admitted yourself that you didn't think you could keep that up forever, and from the way Bones was—" He stopped and swallowed, not wanting to say it. "And I felt it, just for a second, and it has to be at least as bad as—"

"It is," Spock admitted, "as much or more than the pain inflicted upon me and the other victims of Deneva by the neural parasite. However…remember that this is not…meant to go on indefinitely. It will be a set amount of time, albeit the fact that we do not know the length of that time. However…it is still only a certain amount of time, and it will be over." As he spoke the heavy breaks for breath were becoming fewer and farther between. He _was_ gaining control.

But for how long?

"Spock…"

He wasn't sure whether Spock shifting so that Jim's hand fell from his arm was intentional or not.

"Jim. I will be all right. If…you will leave me to meditate—" Spock cut off in a choked sound. It was one very much like the ones Jim had heard from him in sickbay after the parasite attacked him on Deneva, before he had complete control. It was an uncomfortable flashback, and Jim realized that just because Spock wasn't rolling around screaming didn't mean this was going to be any easier than watching Bones suffer. It hadn't been easy to know Spock was hurting then, and it wouldn't be any better now.

He also realized that he was distracting his friend, and that Spock really would be better if Jim stopped talking and left him as he asked.

"Okay, Spock…but we're here. Listen to me, Bones and I are here, and we'll find a way out of this."

Spock nodded. "I will be able to assist shortly, I—ah…as soon as I have gained full control…I will assist."

"You don't have to—"

"I will, Captain."

Jim didn't argue any further because he knew it would be useless. "Fine."

It wasn't necessary, but Spock repeated that he would be fine then. Jim wondered if it was really more to assure his commanding officer, or himself, and as he was standing to go back to Bones he saw something in Spock's eyes that made him wonder if it was even really true.

He tried to ignore the stone in his chest, but he didn't stop himself from squeezing his first officer's shoulder briefly before he was entirely on his feet and moving away.

He tried, too, to ignore the quiet sounds and gasps behind him as he went back to McCoy. He tried to leave Spock his dignity in that way, but it was difficult. He wanted to turn around and go back and he wanted to make it stop.

Bones was having just as much luck as he in that regard. He was pretending to study the medical tricorder that he had picked up from where it had been abandoned, but he didn't look well and he kept glancing at Spock.

"Bones?"

Jim settled on the barren metal floor again beside his chief medical officer and touched his knee, asking without asking if he was okay.

McCoy swallowed and handed over the tricorder. His hands and arms were still trembling, almost imperceptibly but there, after effects. He was pale, but that wasn't all that was making him look ill.

"Jim, he really did save my life," he all but whispered. "He said I had minutes or more, maybe, but I think _that_ was exaggerating."

Jim scanned the saved readings on the tricorder, and there was a lot of it he didn't understand but he got enough out of it to know what McCoy meant. He didn't say anything. He only swallowed and set the instrument down on the floor.

"Bones, maybe you should lie back down."

Maybe worrying about Bones would keep his mind off of Spock so much while they tried to figure out what the hell to do.

"I am not lying down, Jim. I'm going to stand up, and we're going to figure out how to get out of here and how to get those damn bracelets off Spock and contact the ship and _leave_."

"Bones—"

"No matter how stubborn and annoying he is, we cannot just let him suffer, Jim. Not when there may be something we can do this time. I'm a doctor!"

"I know that, Bones! I know all if it!"

Their voices were raised now, but raised from a whisper. Part of them knew that Spock with his Vulcan hearing probably knew every word they were saying anyway—then again, maybe not right now, while he was trying to meditate and maintain control—but it didn't matter. It was human nature to pretend, anyhow, and maybe it gave them the illusion of a modicum of control. So they whispered.

"All right then." McCoy started to get up, but he was still too unsteady and he didn't even need Kirk's help to end up on his haunches again. "Or I'll…join you in a minute." He waved Jim off in frustration, not at Kirk, but in general. "Go on now."

"I'm going. I'll find something. Just rest."

"'M not resting for long if I have anything to say about it," McCoy growled, and when Jim looked at him more closely now he realized that his friend's eyes were not entirely dry. He was still stealing quite a few glances in Spock's direction, too. When he spoke again, he was even quieter than before.

"Jim, after everything he's already been thr—damnit." He swallowed. "I know he's a Vulcan. Right now I don't care, because I know that doesn't mean as much as he likes to think it does." Spock's happy grin when he realized Jim was still alive after the death match on Vulcan was still at the forefront of both their minds. So were the memories of seeing Spock in pain at Deneva and being unable to do anything. "We have to stop this."

Jim knew what he meant. Spock felt. Maybe it wasn't quite the same as for the rest of them, but he did. If anyone knew it, they dis. He was nodding before McCoy finished, and his jaw was clenching now. "I know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do let me know if this isn't just awful so I know whether to keep going, lol. :P

Within fifteen minutes Spock was on his feet and helping to examine the panel by the door. He was up before McCoy was, in fact, and Jim wished he would have taken longer but there was nothing to be done about it. Vulcans would be Vulcans. At least he seemed all right. Only the faint glow of the bracelets and occasional tick of Spock's head told them that anything was happening to him at all.

When Bones got back up he took the tricorder to the other panel, and Jim kept a careful eye on _both_ of his friends.

"I believe I had nearly discovered the release mechanism…" Spock was saying. However, either he hadn't, or his compromised condition was preventing him from correctly remembering what he may or may not have observed before their captors made themselves known.

It took nearly another two hours just to get a panel open. In the end of it they got the tricorder back from McCoy, and once Spock had tinkered with it he found a frequency that disturbed the panel's inner workings long enough that it popped open. Spock did not look pleased that it had taken so long. He didn't say anything, but the near-scowl on his face said it for him.

Jim didn't say anything either—merely let a hand brush the Vulcan's shoulder before he nodded to the open circuitry. They still had work to do, and Spock would understand what he meant.

It wasn't his fault. He was doing the best he could.

Spock nodded in return, but before he could reach into the wires he staggered back a step with a strangled cry.

"Spock?"

He wouldn't so much as put a hand to his head. He wouldn't show even that much weakness; not that it would have been, but he would have seen it that way. He froze in place instead, blinking rapidly and forcing himself to regain control.

Jim was startled, worried—his heart was in his throat. Over the past two hours he'd gotten too used to being able to pretend that his first officer was just fine. He'd forced himself to ignore the sudden small shakes of Spock's head that were all he would allow himself. Somehow he'd managed to ignore the fact that they'd become more frequent and more violent in the last several minutes.

Bones was on his toes, too, only a step behind Spock and with a hand half outstretched as if he could do something.

He couldn't, of course, and Jim knew that as a doctor he hated that. The look on McCoy's face said it now all over again.

A harsh breath or two, and then his breathing evened out again and Spock took the step back to the wall and began to work with the panel's insides. He never said a word, not even to assure them that he was fine. Maybe he knew that was pointless by now, or maybe it was just easier not to expend the effort.

Jim slowly backed away and hauled McCoy off to the side. "What have you got on you? Is there really nothing you can do for him? No sedatives, anything?"

"Nothing that would help him, no. Nothing strong enough. Not with the current amount of negative stimulation. The one or two mild sedatives and tranquilizers I've got wouldn't even _begin_ to cut through it. And painkillers would be useless; it isn't that type of pain."

"So no."

"No. They only chance we've got is to get out of here."

"What about the tricorder? Spock was able to use it to get that panel open; maybe we could disrupt whatever frequency is making those bracelets work."

Bones shrugged. "That would be a job for you or Spock, Jim. I'm a doctor, not technician."

Jim let out a breath of frustration, but he took the tricorder anyway. As long as Spock was still functioning he was the better equipped to work on the door, and Kirk figured he might as well let him alone to do it and see if he could do something else useful. The tricorder was only a medical one and wasn't likely to help—they were extremely lucky that it had been able to put out anything capable of disrupting that panel, and whatever was controlling the bracelets was likely much more sophisticated than a hidden panel catch—but it was worth a try.

He settled against the wall near Spock, fiddling with the tricorder settings, trying to isolate any transmissions coming into the room. There didn't seem to be anything, but there had to be. Maybe it was more advanced a way of communication between machines than the Federation could conceive of yet, but it had to _be_ there. If he could find it and isolate it maybe he could jam it.

Damn, but he wished they still had their communicators, phasers…anything. Anything to have more to work with.

Two more hours. Or was it three? The tricorder had a chronometer, but he wasn't paying attention to it. Certainly not now, when he was frustrated with the instrument for not doing exactly what he wanted it to do. Granted, Spock didn't seem to be losing any ground as far as control was concerned, but he wasn't gaining any either.

A scuffing sound from several feet away, a sudden heavy breath, and Jim jumped to his feet quickly and looked to find Spock leaning into the wall by the open panel. The metal rings had stopped glowing.

Jim let himself hope. "Spock, are you all right?"

The Vulcan straightened slowly, frowning down at the now-dark bracelets around his wrists. "The pain has ceased…for the moment." He looked up at Kirk, but quickly let his gaze slip away to a neutral location. Jim could see why; there was certainly something there, on his face, just under the surface, but without him looking anyone in the eyes it wasn't quite obvious. "However, seeing as they have not released us, it seems unlikely that is the end of it."

Jim was sure Bones saw it too, but he was covering well by putting himself in Doctor mode. While Kirk was still, he took the tricorder from him and removed the small cylindrical medical scanner to see to Spock.

"Doctor, that is unnecessary."

"I can't make sure those blasted things aren't leaving any permanent damage? Let me do my job, you green-blooded hobgoblin." McCoy snapped.

"If you must," the Vulcan deadpanned. "However, I must continue my attempt to open this door."

"Do whatever you want; I'm not stopping you."

And he didn't. Spock turned back to the panel and McCoy scanned on. He didn't look happy, but then again neither was Jim, and at least the doctor didn't look any more alarmed once the scans were completed.

"Bones?"

"He's fine for now, as far as I can tell."

"Good to know."

"As I attempted to communicate, doctor," Spock commented without looking at them.

"Like I said: you do your job, and let me do mine."

After that all was quiet for a while. Jim stood by Spock, assisting him with the re-wiring in any way he requested.

"It's been hours. Surely they'll be looking for us now that we haven't checked in," Bones said eventually.

"Of course, but will they know where to look?" Jim shrugged. "We could be on the other side of the planet from our beam-in site, as far as we know. For that matter, we might not even be _on_ the planet."

"Thanks for the optimism."

"I'm just trying to be realistic…getting out of here may be up to us."

Again, Spock didn't even look at them, but he did offer his two cents. "May I point out that the alien or aliens _have_ expressed the intention to release us themselves."

"Yes, but if this…whatever it is they think they have to do is going to continue I'd rather be out of here sooner rather than later. You can't say you don't feel the same, Spock."

"'Feel' is an inappropriate term, as you well know, Captain, however…" This time the Vulcan did glance back at him, just for a moment. "It _would_ be preferable."

Jim nodded slowly, knowingly. "Of course."

He didn't exchange a concerned glance with Bones until Spock was focused again on his work. It was the shared look that distracted them just long enough that they nearly weren't ready when it happened. Before any of them knew anything had changed the bracelets were glowing again, brighter this time, and Spock cried out and dropped in a fashion reminiscent of McCoy's own collapse only hours ago.

Spock wasn't ready this time. None of them were.

It took both of them to catch him, and to pull him far enough from the wall to lower him to the ground. By the time they did that, though, he was already fighting them—already trying to get back to his feet.

"No. I am all right. I—ah!" He cut off in a gasp and collapsed back into them. The gasps continued, but it was clear he was still trying to control it all. "I…am a Vulcan. I control…my mind _. I_ control—"

Kirk swallowed. "Spock, it's all right! Unless that's really going to help—"

"It will. I am a Vulcan. I can control the pain. It does not control me. There is no pain. I control my mind…" Watching his face go through contortions even as he tried to keep it straight was not Jim's idea of a good time.

McCoy cut in, ranting rather than showing his worry. "Maybe you control your mind, Spock, but there's a physical center of synapses in that Vulcan brain of yours that controls pain and other sensations just like in any other species. A _physical_ center, you pointy-eared bastard. You know what that means? You're not responsible for controlling it. It's not an insult to you or your blasted heritage or anything else if you can't."

The only response was a short garbled cry that Spock cut off as quickly as he could, and by now McCoy had shifted Spock's weight to Jim and pulled out the tricorder's scanner again. The way he paled didn't make Jim feel any better.

"Jim, these readings are worse—the level of pain is worse than anything I read from him at Deneva, and certainly worse than anything he was going through a couple of hours ago before it stopped."

"What?"

"It's like—like they knew he could control it. Like they took a break to decide what to do with him and came back with this." The entire proclamation was laced with barely concealed rage.

Jim swore and focused on his first officer. The more audible reactions had stopped, but his chest still heaved, his jaw was clenched, and sounds that did escape were small and desperate and frustrated—determined, but frustrated.

But Jim didn't want to speak up. Despite the greater level of pain it seemed like Spock was gaining control, little by little even though it was taking much more effort this time around. Kirk didn't want to disturb anything and leave Spock open to the full force of it all again as he had been when it hit him unawares.

He looked at Bones, and the doctor seemed to understand. McCoy fell silent with him, and they waited, anxiously. Spock's eyes were shut tight, and he didn't move for a long, long time. The only further indications he was succeeding in his efforts were the lessening frequency of the small sounds he made, and the slow unclenching of the muscles around his eyes. The rest of him still rested against Jim's shoulder, though rest wasn't really the word; he was far too tense for that.

When the Vulcan finally opened his eyes Jim couldn't decide whether to be relieved or not. He had gained control—the pain had not stopped; the continued glowing of the metal rings told them that—but he looked awful. It was clear he was attempting not to, but the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him away.

He sat up slowly, unhindered, Kirk and McCoy still hesitant to say or do anything for fear of breaking his concentration.

"I can return to working now," was the first thing he said.

Bones reacted immediately. "Are you crazy—?!"

Jim, however, saw a better tactic, and he held up a hand to quiet the doctor. "Spock," he said gently. He reached and not unkindly pried one of his first offer's arms away from his body and held it out. Spock's hands were shaking. "You can't work like this."

Another memory, all too recent—Spock in his quarters, arms shaking when Jim caught one of them as he tried to get an answer, as he tried to figure out what was wrong with his friend and why he needed, so desperately, to return to Vulcan. Spock, vulnerable in a way Jim had never seen him so before. It hadn't sat well with him then, and it didn't now. Not when he knew how much it meant to Spock _not_ to be vulnerable. To be Vulcan.

Spock, ever himself, did not snatch his hand away as Jim would have in his position. He waited patiently, instead, for Kirk to let it go before drawing it back.

"I can supervise. I can still be of assistance."

Jim nodded warily. "Of course." He had to hold off Bones at that, but what other answer could he give?

Spock nodded in return and got to his feet. Jim followed him back to the open panel and work resumed, though now with Jim getting into the guts of the thing while his first officer stood beside him rather than the other way around. Spock was much better at this, but Jim did know what he was doing. He didn't always need the Vulcan's instructions, and when he did he tried not to think about the fact that sometimes the answer to a question took more time than was usual for Spock.

He also tried to ignore Bones, who didn't seem to have anything better to do than scan Spock with the medical tricorder and scowl. Spock was ignoring him too, and somehow it was the lack of banter that bothered Jim the most.

It didn't help either, though, that making this open panel useful was not working. They hadn't affected the door in the slightest. Some of the guts of the wall were a completely unfamiliar type of power conduit altogether, and even if they knew what they were doing with the wires, it didn't appear to matter. The part of it they didn't understand was keeping them from accomplishing anything.

"Why don't you try to _use_ those blasted things on Spock's wrists?" McCoy suggested eventually, frustrated. "Obviously there's some kind of power in them. Maybe they could short themselves and the door out and all our problems would be solved."

Jim shook his head. "We don't know what _kind_ of power it is. Too risky." He managed a tight grin. "We don't want to blow his arms off, after all, right, Mr. Spock?"

"That would not be a preferable outcome, no," the Vulcan deadpanned.

At that Jim managed to keep his smile for a few seconds more—until he'd looked at his first officer long enough to realize that a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. Or he thought it did. It could have been a trick of the light, but…no. No, that was definitely the beginnings of sweat. Damnit. Making a Vulcan sweat was _not_ easy; Jim didn't think he'd seen Spock sweat once even through the entire incident at Deneva, but here he was doing it.

Sometimes Jim almost wished _he_ were telepathic, and now was one of those times. He wished he could communicate what he saw to Bones without Spock knowing, but then again maybe it was better if McCoy didn't notice. The doctor was worried enough as it was, and Jim was relatively sure his friend was still harboring some of the guilt he'd felt over nearly permanently blinding Spock in trying to free him of the neural parasite a couple of months back. That had to be hard enough on him, and the last thing Jim wanted to do was add to it.

"Spock, why don't you take a break?" Jim suggested.

"That is not necessary, Captain."

"The hell it isn't; don't make me order it." Spock raised an eyebrow and glanced at McCoy, too, who didn't have to say anything to make it clear he agreed. "Go on, Spock," Jim said.

Finally he did. He nodded and moved off, and while the lack of further protest was worrying at least he sat down. He sat against a wall and stared out at nothing, probably concentrating on control.

Jim let out a breath and went back to work. He was beginning to tire himself, but he ignored it. Getting Spock the hell out of here was much more important than that, or the fact that he hadn't eaten breakfast.

It took more time, and maybe it was just pure dumb luck—he certainly didn't understand the more alien parts of the workings any better—but finally something happened.

It seemed unreal when there was a loud mechanical hiss, and the door slid open. Kirk jumped back a little, surprised. When he looked down Spock and Bones were looking at the opening mildly, not moving yet, apparently not believing it either.

McCoy, who had taken a seat on the floor next to Spock, finally stood up. "I'll be damned."

Jim motioned to empty corridor that stretched beyond the door. "Gentlemen, I believe that's our cue to leave." Spock, however, was still sitting. "Spock?" Jim went to him, and just in the few steps it took to get there his first offer's head ticked more than once. Still, the Vulcan looked up at him and moved as if to stand. Jim held out a hand, which paused him in that effort.

Spock didn't hesitate long before taking it, and Bones caught his other arm as he came up. "We've got to get these things off of him first, Jim. We can't leave the surface until then; we don't know what it'd do to him."

"Doctor, while I may not have emotional responses to such an action, I would still prefer it if you did not speak as if I were not here."

"Yes, yes, you're both right, now come on," Jim said quickly, urging them out the door. They needed to get going before what they were doing was noticed.

Spock broke away from both of them and went out first, as if to scout ahead.

He didn't make it three steps before he collapsed.

"Spock!" This time it was Bones who called to him and jumped to help. Jim stayed frozen for a long moment or two, horrified as the metal rings' glow flared brighter and his first officer and friend shivered on his knees and shouted.

He didn't _stop_ shouting, which really was not something that should have been happening, and McCoy had the tricorder's scanner out again by now. "Jim!" The doctor yelling at him spurred him to motion, and he moved quickly down to Spock's side as Bones scanned him.

"Bones, what—?"

"I don't know, Jim! He tried to leave and this happened!"

_**Return with him to the confinement area, or he will die.** _

Damnit. Jim looked up, and his grip on Spock's shoulder's tightened. "Haven't you done enough! We understand! Stop this! Leave him alone!"

_**Return now, or he will die.** _

With that the bracelets flared again, and Spock jerked back into Jim as if physically struck. This time he screamed, and it was not a sound Kirk had ever thought he would hear from a Vulcan. It certainly wasn't one he _wanted_ to hear. He felt sick.

"Jim, he will! He'll die if this doesn't stop!" Bones confirmed, panicked and clearly angry with his tricorder. "There's nothing I can do!"

"All right!" Jim growled at the voice. "All right, just stop!"

It stopped. The bracelets grew dark entirely and Spock was suddenly dead weight, unconscious. They certainly weren't going anywhere now.

Jim swallowed hard and got to his feet, and Bones helped him drag Spock back the few feet into their prison. The door shut again behind them, and the panel sparked and sputtered of it's own accord. Once glance told Kirk it would be useless now. He let out a breath of anger and dropped to sit on the floor by his first officer's head. Bones was already sitting opposite him, already scanning again, making sure Spock was all right.

"Bones?"

It took a moment for him to answer. "He's fine," came the terse answer when there was one.

That much was good.

But what now?


	3. Chapter 3

_Captain's Log, Stardate 3397.1_

_Chief Engineer Scott reporting in the absence of the captain and first officer. The landing party, consisting of Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy has now been missing and out of contact for 12.5 hours. For more than eleven of those hours we have been tryin' to determine was has happened to 'em. However, our sensors are meeting an unknown resistance._

Scotty climbed to his feet from under the panel he was working on in Engineering, and hit the intercom. "Scott to bridge. Is it doin' any good, Mr. Sulu?"

" _We 'are' picking up some sort of small compound beneath the surface several hundred kilometers from the beam-in site, but we still can't penetrate it. We can't even tell whether or not it's some sort of shielding that's keeping us out. We won't know whether we can beam anything or anyone in or out until we know that_."

"Aye," Scotty sighed. "Well, ah suppose you'll be keepin' the con then, Mr. Sulu. Send me any new readings you've got down here, and I'll be seein' what I can do about it. Ya know where I'll be if you need me on the bridge."

" _Aye, sir_."

* * *

Waking was as sudden as the onset of unconsciousness had been, and Spock, of course, as a Vulcan, remembered everything that had transpired before. That did not mean it was pleasant to remember, but the memories were there for the perusing just the same.

He did not open his eyes immediately, instead taking stock of any possible damage to his body. There didn't seem to be any—nothing permanent. However, his limbs felt like lead and there was a general feeling of exhaustion. It was nothing a Vulcan could not overcome easily.

When he opened his eyes there was a new problem, briefly. For a long moment his vision was not up to its usual standards, and it took that moment for the yellow shape above him to coalesce into his captain. He knew it was Jim Kirk before that happened, of course, but it was much better to be able to see clearly.

"Spock?"

There were hands holding his shoulders, and he was still on his back. He decided immediately that he shouldn't be. It would only cause the captain and the doctor to worry if he stayed there. It was illogical, but it was the way they were and he had learned, over time, to adapt to it.

"I am quite all right," he said. It wasn't untrue; there was no pain now, which was a considerable improvement over before. When he spoke, though, he realized his throat was dry, and that and other factors caused his voice to come out weaker and more raspy than he would have preferred. Indeed, Jim frowned, and Spock cleared his throat and tried again as he started to sit up. "I am—"

That was as far as he managed before he was cut off both verbally and physically when Doctor McCoy placed his own grip on Spock's upper arm to keep him down. He was left with only his elbows under him.

"No you don't. You need to rest."

"Doctor, your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary." He held up a wrist, where the metal rings were dark. "As you can see, I am unhindered at the moment."

"That doesn't change what happened before you passed out, Spock," Jim said.

"I believe that if I were human, that term might be taken as offensive. "

"Not after what they did to you," McCoy growled. The anger was evident in his tone, but he removed his hand and allowed Spock to sit up. The Vulcan could have done so even if the doctor hadn't moved, but he had not wished to cause offense.

McCoy was the ship's chief medical officer, after all, and he deserved to be listened to—not that Spock would ever tell him such a thing.

Spock sat up, feeling the heavy drag of weakness on his body but ignoring it. The information was compartmentalized and stored away, and it was much easier to do so with that than with the pain of before. Both the captain and doctor had hands out as if to spot him, in case they were needed, but they let their arms drop when they saw they were not.

"I assure you, I am fine."

"All right, Spock," Jim sighed wearily. "But we're still no closer to getting out of here." He nodded up to the panel they had spent so many hours' work on. "They blew the circuits the minute we were back inside."

"And why, may I ask, are we back inside?"

"Because they were going to kill you if we didn't come back in here!" McCoy snapped.

Spock just looked at them, realizing now that his memories were not, in fact, as intact as he thought. He remembered the pain—that he had never felt its like—and he remembered Jim holding onto him and he remembered both of his companions shouting—Jim near enough to his sensitive Vulcan ears to be painful, but that was hardly a concern at the time—and he remembered _knowing_ he would die if the pain as it was then did not stop. He didn't remember _how_ he knew. He didn't remember it being said, or the threat on his life.

He didn't remember his friends acquiescing, sacrificing their chance at freedom for him, though that was apparently what had happened. Granted, if nothing had changed in their captors' original intentions they would all be free at some point anyhow, but…it still seemed like it was something he should remember. It was still a meaningful gesture—illogical, but meaningful. Spock could recognize such things, after having humans as friend for so long.

All of this went through his mind in no more than a very few seconds, and he blinked once. "Indeed."

The loss of memory clarity should not have disturbed him. In truth, considering the amount of stimulation his brain and body had been enduring at the time it was completely reasonable that his mind had not been able to accurately record every detail. He told himself the same would have been true even of a full Vulcan. The doctor had not been entirely wrong several hours ago; controlling pain as a thing of the mind was one matter, but damaging levels of negative stimulation was quite another. If it had continued then there _would_ have been physical damage. It would have killed him.

Therefore, it was illogical for the memory insufficiency to disturb him.

But it did.

The fact that it did disturbed him further.

None of these thoughts were apparent outwardly, of course, or at least they were not meant to be. But his friends, attentive as they were, were still looking at him with concern.

It was not always as reassuring an action as they doubtless intended it to be.

"Spock?"

It was Jim again, asking so many questions with only his name. "What of the other panel?" he asked, instead of answering.

"I don't think anything happened to it, but I don't think it'd be much help, either. They've already proven that just getting that door open isn't going to be enough to get us out of here."

He should have had an alternative to offer already. In any other circumstance he would have, but his mind was sluggish from overwork and exhaustion. "I…am sorry, captain. I do not have another solution as of yet."

Kirk just gave him the sympathetic, knowing smile that was one of his signatures. "It's all right, Mr. Spock. I don't think any of us are running on all engines at the moment."

Spock nodded a bit in acknowledgement, and he had to admit that Jim's capacity for understanding often touched him.

Still, he wanted to stand—to get to his feet and attempt to do _something_ , because if he did that perhaps the answer would come to him, and then Kirk and McCoy would be less concerned. It made no sense to simply sit here, anyhow, as the doctor wanted him to do, when he could be up and doing something productive. Perhaps he didn't yet know what that productive activity would be, but it would never present itself if he stayed here on the floor.

Without a word he started to stand, and this time McCoy did not move to stop him even though he did not look happy about it. On the contrary he seemed as if he might try to help.

They both left him alone, however. He knew they were watching him warily, but they let him get to his feet on his own and he was thankful for the consideration.

However, he only made it halfway up before the pain began again and turned his legs immediately to jelly.

He was saved the impact of his knees with the floor when Kirk and McCoy caught his arms and lowered him more slowly. The doctor, of course, was already swearing mightily.

At least this time, Spock thought, he had not cried out. That, though, was not likely to last. The pain was not remaining constant this time. It was in the process of increasing—not exponentially, and not to levels as dangerous as when their captors had threatened to take his life, but certainly to levels worse than anything before that incident.

Then, he had thought that succeeding in opening the door would lead to freedom—to the end of the pain.

That had not happened. He had wanted it to happen. To alleviate the captain's and the doctor's worries, of course. This situation distressed them, and he did not wish to cause them distress. He regretted that they were still here, and that the ordeal was not yet over.

For Jim and McCoy's sake.

Spock focused again on control. It was becoming more difficult. He could hear Jim's voice, and the doctor, but he had to shut them out to gain enough control to keep silent. By the time he came back to the world they had pulled him to the side of their prison to let him rest against a wall—not that they had let him go.

"Spock!"

The Vulcan jerked at the shout by his ear. "I can hear you quite well, Doctor."

"Well you couldn't a minute ago."

"I was in meditation."

"Sure, if checking out to manage pain is meditation. That's a common mental defense in humans, you know."

"I am aware…however, I am not human, and that is not what I was engaged in. It is called meditation for a reason, Doctor…it is quite different and distinct from what you term 'checking out.'"

As often as he engaged in these debates with the doctor, it was still a mystery to Spock as to why he continued to do so. They served no logical purpose, and yet he allowed them to happen often. Indeed, he encouraged them and sometimes put great effort into his responses.

If one of his human friends were to ask, he supposed he would have to tell them that the closest answer was that he enjoyed the exchanges—not in the same way they understood the word 'enjoyment,' but it would be the only adequate equivocation. And beyond that, he did not know.

However, this time it seemed as if he had misjudged the doctor's behavior. What he thought was their usual banter was not, in fact, merely that. McCoy looked rather serious now. "You don't have to defend yourself to me, Spock. I'm a doctor. I know what this is doing to you, and that you have to deal with it somehow. You have nothing to be ashamed of; we're just worried about you, is all."

If he were not distracted just now he might have marveled at the unusual emotional directness at the end of the doctor's short speech, but as it was he had no extra capacity for it.

Anyhow, was that what he had been doing? Defending himself? He had not been conscious of any such intent, yet…

Spock glanced from McCoy to Kirk, who had the more somber and somewhat distraught version of his understanding gaze in place now.

"Your assessment assumes emotion, Doctor—which I do not have."

"Whatever you want to tell yourself."

He raised an eyebrow, but when neither of them answered the gesture in good humor he let it go. They released his arms that they both still had hold of, though they did not go anywhere. They settled against the wall on either side of him, with barely enough space for comfort.

Then again, in another way perhaps it was more reassuring to have them near. It was an illogical thing to…feel, and yet Spock did.

Illogical.

He was not able to mull over the strange phenomenon any further. The increasing pain made it impossible to focus on little more than control.

He could not have gotten up to do anything even if there had been something to do, even if he had wanted to.

* * *

Complete control did not last long for Spock this time, despite the fact that he didn't move from his place against the wall. Soon enough he was crumpled rather than sitting upright, his brow knitted rather than not, and when the heavier breaths and pained sounds began Jim couldn't just sit there any more.

He got up and took the tricorder from Bones, but he hadn't taken more than a step toward the other panel when it sparked, too. It was still closed and all he saw was the smoke spilling from the cracks, but it was still very clear that the same thing had happened to it as to the first.

It was useless as well. Now there really WAS nothing they could do.

Jim's jaw clenched, and he saw Bones all but gaping at the second smoking panel. "How do they expect to do anything with nothing but fried circuitry?" Kirk asked in frustration.

"Use their version of transporters to get us out of here when they want us gone, I suspect; it must be worth at least temporarily sacrificing this room's functionality to keep us here for now. They must either have others, or know they can repair it once we're gone, or both."

"Logical…Doctor."

McCoy blinked and glanced back at Spock. "Thank you…I guess." Jim, though, could see how touched Bones was by the Vulcan's comment, even if Spock didn't know it himself. Either way, Spock's only answer was a small nod.

Despite the situation Jim might have smiled if his Vulcan friend hadn't groaned after that.

All that did, of course, was fuel the captain's anger.

"How much longer must this go on!" he demanded. To his surprise, the voice actually answered.

_**It might have been over at this time, but he defies us with his resistance.** _

"His—" Jim didn't even try to reign in his response to that, and Bones was on his feet in an instant. If either of them were angry before, it was nothing compared to now.

"Have you lost your alien minds!" McCoy growled.

"It isn't defiance!" Jim shouted. "Restraint is the way of his people! So you torment him; would you take his dignity as well? It's the way he is! How can you punish him for it!"

_**What is, is.** _

"That doesn't damn well mean anything!" Bones retorted.

"Stop this!" Jim demanded again, motioning to Spock. "You've done enough to him. Just because he doesn't much show it doesn't mean he doesn't feel pain. We've learned your lesson! Stop!"

"Captain!"

The cry was a gasp followed by other sounds, and when Jim looked down from the ceiling he'd been ranting toward Bones was already crouching at Spock's side again. It was Spock who had called to him, and the Vulcan was fighting for control again and he was losing this time.

"Captain…Doctor…I believe you are…only provoking them…please do n—" He cut off and his eyes clenched shut. Jim realized now that the bracelets were flaring in brightness again; not as bright as before, when they nearly lost Spock, but brighter than a moment ago. And even through everything at Deneva, Jim had never seen Spock curl in on himself in pain the way he was now.

"No," Jim protested in panic. "Don't do this because of us."

His plea fell on deaf ears, wherever they were.

* * *

" _We're reading three life-forms in the compound now—two human, one Vulcan. It's our people all right. But we can't cut through the interference enough to beam them out. Not yet. And I think they're in trouble, Scotty. We're reading their communicator signals on the other side of the underground structure entirely. They don't have their communicators or weapons on them. Whoever has them, they're probably prisoners."_

"Don't haf'ta tell me twice, Mr. Sulu. I'm way ahead of you—have more than a few ideas on how to push that transporter signal through, I do. We'll have 'em out 'a there in no time."

" _I hope so, sir_."

* * *

"Can't you just give him what you do have?"

"Every bit of sedative I've got on me would only make him a little groggy at this point, and that might be worse for him than better. As much as I hate to admit it, those Vulcan mind tricks of his are helping. They have from the beginning, and just because they're not working near as well now as they were before doesn't mean he doesn't need them. If he were even more tired or out of it he wouldn't be able to concentrate, and he'd be in _more_ pain—not less."

"Bones, I can't just stand here and—"

"Do you think I can! What do you want me to do, Jim? We have no avenues of escape to explore, and we can't help him. We're even more helpless here than we were on Deneva, and I hate it just as much as you do. I didn't want it to turn out this way either."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Be here for him. You're good at that." McCoy paused. "That, and…maybe if I gave him a stimulant it'd help his concentration—help him stay a little more on top of it. It'd be completely counter-intuitive if he were human, but as he likes to point out, he isn't."

Jim only nodded tiredly.

"Doctor…"

The quiet rasped called brought them out of their whispered conversation. Before they'd temporarily left him they'd pulled him carefully along the wall to the corner, where the meeting of the two walls would support him more effectively than one. He needed the extra help now to stay somewhat upright, but they knew him. They knew he would rather have it from inanimate objects than from them—or that his Vulcan dignity preferred that, anyhow. They wanted to give him as much of that as they could.

They went back to him now, and Bones was frowning before they got there. It was something specific. Jim knew that look, but he didn't know what it was until he really listened.

Rather than being simply heavier and shorter Spock's breathing had taken on a troubling hitching quality. "Breathing is…becoming somewhat difficult," the Vulcan admitted. "I do not…know what you could do…however, the two of you seem to…wish to know of any developments."

Jim settled on the ground by Spock again, nearly not remembering to leave even an inch or two of space; all he wanted to do was help, and he felt as if he wasn't doing that leaving space—not being right there, not holding him up, not offering that kind of direct help. He had to remember that being there could mean different things. It was something he had trouble adjusting to with his Vulcan first officer.

McCoy was already scanning. "Whether or not I can do anything depends on what's causing it, and with whatever exactly these things are doing on top of your Vulcan physiology hell knows whether I'd ever figure that out," he grumbled.

"I have every confidence in you, Doctor…"

Bones snorted. "Now we _know_ this is getting to you." He let out a breath. "You probably heard every word we said over there. I can give you a stimulant and that might help with you and your Vulcan whatever-it-is. Do you want it, or not?"

"If it is the only…alternative to nothing, then I suppose I will have to agree."

"You don't have to. You know how your Vulcan magic works better than I do. Now would it help, or wouldn't it?"

"I believe that it would."

"All right then."

"What about his breathing? What else is wrong?" Jim asked as the doctor administered the stimulant.

"I'm getting around to that. I'll have to see what this does to help him, first."

It did seem to help. For a while Spock was quiet, he sat straighter. He still did not get up, but he was more in control and there seemed to be less strain. The hitching was still there, but he was breathing easier in every other way so Bones wasn't overly worried about it. He couldn't find the cause anyhow. Jim took advantage of the opportunity to worry a little less and was on his feet, pounding at walls in any attempt to find something.

He didn't find anything, but then again he hadn't expected to.

When it seemed the hypo was wearing off and Spock was having a harder time of it again he came back. He sat down. He was there. So was Bones.

Jim wondered if the hypo had been a good idea after all. They didn't have any more, and it hadn't lasted as long as they'd hoped—maybe an hour or two, when they'd hoped for several—and Spock seemed even more exhausted now. As a result he was more vocal, and Jim had to do _something_. He wasn't really aware he'd moved at all until he had a hand wrapped around his first offer's wrist—farther up than where the bracelet rested, of course, and damn the things.

Whether he meant it to be comforting, or a distraction, or what he didn't know; he only knew he wanted to help, and Spock didn't pull his arm away. So Jim held on.

It continued to get worse. McCoy's face pinched more and more in anger, and Jim tried to stay calm for Spock's sake, and when his first officer finally just tipped over into his shoulder Jim didn't argue. It was awkward—the Vulcan was taller than he, and heavy—but that didn't matter right now.

"Spock…"

The only answer was a long groan and a shiver. He really didn't seem to be able to breathe very well anymore, either. The hitching was worse.

Jim swallowed. "Bones—"

McCoy shook his head at his tricorder, and his eyes were nearly wild. "They have to stop. We're losing him."

There had NEVER been a better moment for what happened then, as the golden glow of the Enterprise's transporter beams abruptly surrounded them.

_Oh god, Scotty, bless you._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer; had to take finals and make the trip home for Thanksgiving and such. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and thanks for reading. :) I can't wait to hear what ya"ll think! :)

Their prison dissolved, and the Enterprise transporter room formed around them, and Jim had never been more relieved in his life. As soon as the beam released them Bones was on his feet, and all of them were glad to see the medical team that was already waiting.

Either it was a precaution, or when they'd located their lifesigns the sensors must have picked up abnormal readings—enough to make it clear that Spock was in some kind of distress or medical trouble.

"It's about time," McCoy huffed. "Help me get him on the gurney." There was one there, with the medical team led by Nurse Chapel.

Jim didn't know if Spock had even realized anything had happened. He was still crumpled over the captain's shoulder.

" _Transporter room, have you got 'em_?" It was Scotty's voice, over the intercom, and transporter chief answered in the affirmative as Chapel and the male nurse with her helped Bones haul Spock up off the transporter pad. Jim followed them up, still supporting Spock until he was sure they had him. The Vulcan was obviously still in pain, but the metal rings—

They were still glowing. Jim wasn't sure why part of him had assumed (hoped?) that leaving the planet would neutralize them. Then again, orbit wasn't very far for such an advanced civilization as their captors to send a signal.

A warning knot in his gut tightened, just before the glowing bracelets flared much brighter and Spock started to scream.

Jim didn't wait for Bones to yell at him to tell him what he already knew. He bolted for the intercom and punched it. "They're not happy we left!" McCoy shouted anyway.

"Scotty, get us out of orbit! Away from the planet! Maximum warp, now!" Jim ordered.

" _Sir…_?"

"Do it now or Spock is dead! Heading doesn't matter!"

There was a quick affirmative, and a moment later Jim felt the faint rumbling of the deck under his feet that told him they were moving, and fast. Satisfied, the captain hurried back to the medical team just as it hurried out into the corridor.

"We have to get those things off of him. If we're not far enough away in time—"

Bones cut him off. "Don't you think I know that! If we can keep him still enough I could probably get them off with a surgical laser, but we've got to get him to sickbay for that." That, of course, would explain why the med team was all but sprinting down the corridor—as fast as they could go pushing a gurney with a thrashing Vulcan as its cargo.

Jim ran with them, helping Chapel to hold Spock while the male nurse did most of the pushing and Bones rummaged through the fresh med kit his team had given him and tried hyposprays—heavier doses than he'd had access to in their prison. He seemed to be hoping something would help—something would calm Spock, or knock him out, or maybe just counteract the effects of the bracelets long enough to make sure he wouldn't die on them before they could free him of them.

Nothing seemed to help at all, but what did he know? He did know that Spock was still screaming when he could actually manage to get any air, and that McCoy became more and more tight-lipped the closer they got to sickbay. Chapel, to her credit—considering the rather large crush on the Vulcan science officer that _everyone_ knew she had—remained level-headed.

It was all something of a blur to Jim from that point. They rushed Spock into the surgery ward, got him on an operating table and strapped him down, but restraints only did so much. They needed more in the form of orderlies holding him still, because sedatives had no effect and the last thing they needed was for Bones to cut his hand off.

Jim found himself holding one arm down while the doctor started on the other, trying to cut through the metal ring.

Spock was weakening. Without anyone telling him Jim knew they were running out of time. His first offer was still shouting and struggling against the pain, but his movements were less pronounced and his cries weaker and becoming fewer and farther between—finally more desperate gasps than anything else.

"Bones, what's taking so long!"

"He told you this metal was unfamiliar! It's strong. It's working, the cutting laser's getting through, just not fast enough."

"Speed it up!"

"Not if you don't want me to kill him myself!"

Kirk swore loudly. "Why aren't we far enough away?"

One by one the orderlies were peeling away, unneeded, and in a panicked bid to keep his friend with them Jim unstrapped the arm he was keeping down and held it, squeezing his first officer's hand. "Spock, we'll have these things off of you soon, just hold on. _Don't go anywhere_ , do you hear me? That's an order!"

It drew Spock's attention, focused him somewhat, and Bones didn't say anything, didn't break his own concentration, but something in the tilt of his head told Jim he approved of the effort.

He heard McCoy quietly ordering a stimulant from Nurse Chapel, and he knew he had to _keep_ Spock's attention. This was going downhill fast.

The hand in his squeezed back weakly, and Spock fought to focus on him. "Jim—"

"Good! Good, talk to me."

Spock shook his head once. "Jim—" He cut off again, in a shout this time, when a sudden spasm ripped through him. For a moment he was squeezing Kirk's hand much more tightly, but then the strength in the grip was abruptly gone again. The Vulcan's eyelids were dropping.

"Bones!" He looked up to check the progress. "You're more than halfway through that thing; how is it still working?"

"How am I supposed to know!"

Spock shouted again, but then the bracelets were suddenly a little less bright. Both of them. Maybe they were starting to gain enough distance.

At the very least, it allowed Spock to focus on his captain a bit better. "Jim," he gasped. "Please, I must—if I am to—I am sorry, I must….please…"

There was too much adrenaline fogging his mind; Jim didn't realize what Spock meant until the Vulcan released his hand and tried to reach for the captain's face. His arm fell back, too weak, and Jim caught it and pulled it up. He didn't know why Spock was trying to meld _now_ , but he knew he couldn't say no if he could help. Maybe it could keep Spock here long enough, give him strength…Jim didn't know, but he held his first officer's hand to his face and leaned closer to make it easier for him to position his fingers.

Pain. The first thing he felt was the pain and he doubled over; he thought he heard himself shout but he wasn't sure. He felt the apology, too—not in words; nothing quite in words—but Spock was sorry. He had no strength left with which to protect Jim from the pain and he was free to disengage at any time, but Jim could also feel how _important_ this was. Whatever Spock was trying to do _needed_ to be done, and Jim held on.

More apology. This was taking longer than it should with the pain hindering him, with his mind already attempting to shut down.

And all of a sudden Jim knew that Spock believed he was going to die.

NO. No no no. You're not going to die.

Jim, please do not fight. I must—

You are NOT going to die!

There was more slipping through as their minds grew closer, and Jim knew it but he wasn't paying attention to it now.

Damnit, Spock, you're not going anywhere—

It was all gone. The link was broken, and Jim was catching Spock's arm as it dropped again. Everything inside him twisted. His first thought was that the battle was lost and Spock was gone already.

Then he heard the clatter on the floor. He looked down at his feet and found the metal ring, dark and open of its own accord.

They'd made it far enough away from the planet.

"Spock…?" The Vulcan was still now, and quiet save for the difficulty breathing that had remained. For a moment he found Kirk's eyes again, but then he was unconscious.

McCoy gave him another hypo, and Jim swallowed in relief as Spock's breathing evened out in his sleep. He glanced at the arm he was still holding. Something from the retracting bracelet had scratched or punctured the skin and there was a small amount of green blood smeared on the inside of Spock's wrist, but the area where the offending device had rested seemed otherwise unharmed. Jim called the small damaged area to the doctor's attention before carefully lowering his first officer's arm to the table.

"Will he be all right?"

Bones let out a heavy breath, already studying the readings on the display above the table. "I don't know, Jim. He almost died; he _would_ have in another minute or two. We've got to stabilize him, assess any real damage…why don't you go eat something and get some rest and I'll call you as soon as we know anything?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn't know what to say anymore. What to do. He was too tired. But he didn't want to leave until he knew Spock was all right, and there was nothing wrong with that right now, was there? There were no other pressing emergencies. He wasn't needed on the bridge. He didn't have to be the captain at the moment.

McCoy looked at him long enough to figure all of that out for himself.

"Or you could just rest in my office."

Jim managed a brittle smile. "Thanks, Bones."

He found an intercom panel, let Scotty know they could stop the mad dash, and did just that. Whether he wanted to be or not he was asleep almost before he found McCoy's chair.

* * *

Jim heard his name faintly, felt a hand on his shoulder, but it was remembering what had happened just before he'd drifted off that really woke him.

"Spock—!"

"Take it easy, Jim, he's all right. He's stable and resting."

The captain looked up groggily at McCoy. "What? Good…good. Uhm…how long have I been out?"

"Just an hour or two. You need more, and that's an order, but I thought you'd want to move to your quarters now."

Jim rose unsteadily to his feet, really feeling the drain of the past 24 hours or so now that any adrenaline was gone. "Sure." He moved past Bones, but at the doctor's office door he turned right instead of left. He couldn't leave just yet.

McCoy knew where he was going. "Jim, he's going to be _fine_. Go to your quarters and sleep. And eat something soon, all right?"

"In a minute, Bones. I trust you. I just want to check on him for myself. Captain's prerogative." And he was already there, turning the corner into the main ward. Only one bed was occupied. Spock was in patient garb now, a blanket pulled up to his chest and sleeping. The monitor above him softly beeped out readings that looked relatively normal for a Vulcan, as far as Kirk knew.

He let out a breath that he almost felt he'd been holding for days.

"It really is only sleep," Bones provided without prodding. "He may not come out of it for a while—which is just fine in his condition—but that's all it is. No Vulcan trances or any such thing; he's probably too weak for any of that anyhow. But there's no need for it. Even after all of that at the end there's no real damage—nerves over-stimulated, yes, but not damaged. Nothing time and rest won't fix. It was the shock to his nervous system that would have killed him, not any physical damage."

The doctor was quiet for a moment, before he continued more quietly. "That last bout sure took a hell of a lot out of him, though—took everything he had, really, to hold on long enough. You may be the only reason he managed to do it, too."

Kirk shook his head slightly. "I don't know, Bones. I sure didn't feel like I was doing much. He still thought he was going to die…he'd resigned himself to it. I could _feel_ it, when he was trying to meld with me. I knew it. He was only holding on because he had to do something first. With the mild meld. I..I don't know what." As he thought about it, more came back, and he was swallowing. "But he was done, Bones. As soon as he'd….whatever he was trying to do…he was going to let go. It was over for him."

He paused, as something else came to him. Something else he'd felt. There was a new knot in his gut now. "He just wanted the pain to end."

McCoy looked just as troubled as he was over all of that. "Then I guess we'd better be damned glad that signal had a limit."

Jim nodded wearily, and both of them were silent for a long time.

"Bones, are you sure he'll be all right?"

"Physically, yes. It'll just take time for him to get his strength back. Other than that…we won't really know until he wakes up." The doctor shrugged. "But this is Spock we're talking about."

"Right…" Jim cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'll check in on the bridge." When McCoy looked like he would protest, he quickly added, "No more than ten minutes, and I'll be on my way to my quarters. Does that satisfy you?"

"I suppose it'll have to."

Jim thanked him for the update again and left sickbay. He took his time on the way to the bridge, trying to lose himself in the Enterprise, his home, glad to be back in it, trying to forget the worst parts of the last day or so.

Even though it was actually the middle of the current day, he expected to find a skeleton crew on the bridge—junior officers holding down the fort while those like Scotty and Sulu and Uhura and Chekov slept. He knew them and he was sure they hadn't while he and the rest of the landing party were missing.

But they were all still there. It was plain enough looking at them that they hadn't slept, but they were there just the same.

"Captain!" Uhura said first. At her call the others swiveled in their chairs.

Jim blinked at them, still just outside the turbolift. "What the devil are all of you still doing awake?"

"Waitin' for news, sir," Scotty said, standing from the center seat. "The situation seemed pretty dire when you came aboard."

"Doctor McCoy didn't contact you?"

"A bit after you took us off warp he called up ta tell us all ta turn over the bridge and get some sleep, but nothin' more."

"You had the con, Mr. Scott. If anything was wrong he would have let you know."

The engineer sounded almost skeptical when he answered. "Of course, Captain, it's only—"

Uhura cut in. "It's just, when you called from the transporter room, sir, we could hear…" She trailed off uncomfortably.

"Everything," Sulu finished for her. "We could hear everything."

"It didna sound good, to say the least," Scotty added quietly. "Couldn't well leave the ship to the junior officers if we were ta have another crises on our hands."

"Is ewereything really all right, Keptin?" Chekov asked.

There was quiet for a moment, and then Uhura asked the question they were really asking anyway. "Is Mr. Spock all right, sir?"

Jim was tired enough that it took that long for everything they were saying to process—for him to realize why they were still here.

They'd heard everything in the background, when he'd called Scotty from the transporter room to order the jump to warp. They'd heard Spock screaming, McCoy barking orders, his own panic, all of it. They'd been concerned for Spock, first, of course. Perhaps they'd even worried that he hadn't made it—that he hadn't and it wasn't something the captain and doctor wanted to announce immediately. Neither of them emerging from sickbay for the past two hours probably had not helped to keep such a worry from formulating.

That was his fault. He'd been asleep on his feet, really, when he'd called the bridge again to let Scotty know they could drop out of high warp. He'd been brief. He'd said nothing about Spock, and he should have, especially as awful as he must have sounded by that point.

They must have really been afraid that Spock might be gone and no one wanted to tell them yet. Scotty's last comment told him, too, that they'd been concerned about the effect such an event might have had on their captain if it had occurred. They'd been worried about both of them.

At this point, on this particular day, after everything that had happened, realizing anew just how much his senior staff cared—about him, Spock, each other, all of it—was very nearly too much for Jim to bear.

"Yes," he said quickly, before the lump starting in his throat could take shape. "Yes, Mr. Spock is all right." All of them visibly relaxed at that. "It's difficult to explain beyond that and I won't try, but he'll be all right." He gave a tired chuckle. "And I'm sure that the doctor will be more than happy to let all of you knew when visiting hours are once he's awake. But for now he's resting, and so should we, I think."

There was a chorus of relieved 'Aye, sirs' and Jim smiled. The smile was much more genuine this time.

* * *

Jim stayed on the bridge long enough to see the relief crew get there, and to make sure that the rest of his senior staff did indeed all head straight to their quarters, too. Only then did he retreat to his own. A sonic shower and what of a meal he could get down later—his yeoman shook her head at how little it was—and he was asleep again.

Sleep, however, was fitful now. He dreamed, but the dreams weren't entirely his own and he didn't understand how he knew that, either. He only knew they were, for the most part, nightmares, and that they woke him.

He sat up quickly, automatically clinging to the only pieces of the dreams that had been good—or less than horrible. It was those pieces he was able to retain, and from them he inferred much of what the rest had consisted of.

It also gave him an idea of where all of it had come from. _Spock…_

Jim got to his feet and found a shirt. As soon as his door opened into the dim nighttime corridors he knew he had slept quite a while.

He made his way quietly to sickbay. There weren't many personnel there. There would be a couple of nurses and one of the lower-ranked doctors on call for emergencies for the night, but they were nowhere to be found in the front compartments of sickbay. They were likely back in the offices or labs, doing long-needed paperwork or lab tests with the downtime.

That meant there was no-one in the main ward to bother him when he went in and sat on the edge of the bed next to Spock's. He studied his first offer's sleeping face, and he'd hoped to find it peaceful. He'd hoped his hunch was wrong.

It wasn't, at least not entirely. The Vulcan's face seemed troubled, even in sleep. Jim glanced up worriedly, but the indicator on the monitor he'd come to know so well at Deneva—the one that indicated pain—did not show anything out of the ordinary. Spock was technically fine, just as Bones had promised him.

"Jim? What are doing in here at this hour?"

Speak of the devil. Jim twisted in surprise where he sat. "Bones? I could ask you the same thing. Weren't you supposed to be getting some sleep, too?"

"I did. Then I came back. Couldn't sleep anymore."

Jim shrugged. "The same for me, I suppose." He hesitated before asking the next question, waiting for the doctor to make his way over. "Bones…do Vulcans dream like we do?"

"Not nearly as often as we do, but yes. Though I would guess Spock's dream activity would be at least a little closer to ours than a normal Vulcan. Why?"

"What about nightmares?"

"That's just a type of dream, Jim; if you can have dreams, then—why are you asking?" Jim nodded to Spock, and the doctor looked. "Oh…well, I suppose they do," he relented after a moment. The doctor let out a breath. "I wouldn't blame him, after everything that's happened to him."

"No…" Kirk trailed. "Still, it's just…strange to think about. Because even if it _is_ a bad dream and even if it actually affects him, you know he'd never admit to it when he wakes up."

"Of course not. He's a Vulcan."

"Exactly. And strangely enough maybe it's for that reason that I'm worried about him."

"You don't have to tell me twice; I was worried about him when all of this had hardly started," McCoy huffed.

Jim smiled a little. "Not like _you_ to admit _that_."

"Well excuse me for caring when some blasted alien goes off _torturing_ a man that happens to be my friend—green-blooded hobgoblin or not. I didn't get a chance for much of that last time; I was too busy worrying about the colonists and worrying later that Spock had been blinded permanently and that I was the cause of it. This time I can feel whatever I please, so I will." Bones pointed an accusing finger at the captain. "And if you _ever_ tell him I said _any_ of this I'll categorically deny it."

"I know you will. Don't worry, Bones; your secret's safe with me."

"It damned well better be. Now what else is bothering you? That's not all of it. I can tell."

Jim looked at Spock again, running over what he could remember of the dreams. "I don't know…it's hard to explain. You didn't…feel what I felt, when he tried to meld with me. We can say we're concerned, and we've said things like that before, but we've never really _known_ , have we? There's never _really_ a way to know whether he's always as unaffected by things as he says or if its all just Vulcan stoicism, except for the few instances in which it's been clear. When he found out I was alive after what happened on Vulcan, for instance. We all knew that was emotion. There was no way for him to explain that away; we only let him do it because we respect him too much. We let him keep his dignity because we care; because we know how much it means to him. We picked at him a little, sure, but in the end we let it go because there was nothing else we could do. There's never been anything else we could do. It's the way things work, being his friend.

"But…" Jim shook his head. "I don't think we can just let it go this time. He tried to meld with me, and I think there are…pieces. Things left behind. I _know_ this time. I know he…felt things. I haven't sorted much of it out yet, what's in here, it's all vague," he said, tapping his temple, "because the link wasn't complete. But I'll figure it out. I don't know what's going to come to the surface when he wakes up, if anything. Knowing him, beyond insisting that he won't need nearly as much time for recovery as you'll try to insist on he'll act exactly the way he always does, like nothing's happened at all. But I think I'll know the truth this time, whatever it is."

"Which all means what?"

All of that talking, but he was at a loss now. "I have no idea. That we can help him, maybe, if I know. If he needs help. I'm not sure."

"Well good luck with that. I'm glad you're the one with Vulcan leftovers in your head and not me," McCoy snorted.

Jim just shrugged, but then he smiled again faintly and Bones was looking at him strangely. "I've got one thing straight, at least," he said in explanation. "It was the only thing that was really clear.

"Oh?"

"Yes…I know Spock was…thankful, that we were with him, to use as neutral a word as possible, as I'm sure he would. Not that he would ever say anything about it to us or anyone else anyhow. But he was…he was grateful that that he wasn't alone; that he didn't have to go through any of that alone. I think maybe he was thinking about Deneva—how much he isolated himself those few days, literally and figuratively, to deal with the pain, and that it was different this time. We were there, the whole time. When it was at its worst and we didn't leave his side…you were right, Bones. He noticed that."

Now McCoy was swallowing. "Well…you know, it was all we could do. Nothing special…"

"It was to him."


End file.
